


What Comes Next

by forgadgetsandgizmos



Series: Alex Manes Week 2020 [4]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes Needs a Hug, Alex Manes Week 2020, Anal Sex, BAMF Alex Manes, Blood and Injury, Canon Disabled Character, Depression, Dissociation, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, One Night Stands, POV Alex Manes, Pre-Canon, The Manes Brothers, Top Alex Manes, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, the lost decade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24946429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgadgetsandgizmos/pseuds/forgadgetsandgizmos
Summary: Alex ripped it open and read the words. And read them again. And again.But no matter how many times he reads them, the words haven’t changed. Aren’t going to.-Or, Alex spends ten years just surviving.
Relationships: Alex Manes & Original Male Character(s), Alex Manes/Original Male Character(s), Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Alex Manes Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798780
Comments: 12
Kudos: 80





	What Comes Next

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 6 of Alex Manes Week 2020 | Prompt: The Lost Decade
> 
> -
> 
> I hope the time skips aren't confusing, I tried my best to make it linear. Title is from the Hamilton song. Not beta'd so there may be mistakes. Enjoy!
> 
> **Trigger warning: Alex is very drunk and ends up making out with someone else (who is also very drunk and not purposely trying to hurt him) when he doesn't too, but nothing serious happens. If you want to skip it, it's in the December, 2010 heading.

**May, 2009**

Alex Manes had lost his virginity to a man. 

The _to a man_ part of that statement was important to him. The most important part, if he’s being honest, because six months after basic and it still surprised him. Growing up under Jesse, in Roswell of all places, he had expected to have to bite the bullet with a girl he (hopefully) didn’t hate, therefore crushing of the last thing of he had to fantasize about that his dad couldn’t poison. That, or stay a virgin forever. 

Neither were very appealing options. 

And it turned out that the poison of his father was far more infectious and lethal than he had imagined. 

So yeah, the fact that he had managed to lose his virginity to a man without the world ending was what allowed him to find a bar two days before his first deployment, buy a man a beer, and follow him to his apartment where said man currently laid sprawled out under him, one hand on his chest and another gripping tightly to the headboard.

“Fuck, Alex.” His back arched up as Alex added another lubed finger in his ass, spreading them and stretching him open. 

The man – Bryce? No, Boyd, – had started to top, but Alex hadn’t let him get as far as ripping open the condom before flipping him on his back and taking it himself. There was only one person Alex had bottomed for and he wasn’t interested in repeating the experienced for a drunk nobody from a bar he drove an hour to get to. Based off the loud moans coming from the man underneath him, it hadn’t been a problem. 

“Just, just fuck me, please,” Boyd begged, spreading his legs further. 

Alex pulled his fingers out and pressed his mouth to a nipple instead, flicking it with his tongue. This was his only chance to get laid until after an eight-month deployment. 

They were just getting started.

* * *

**December, 2010**

The beers had yet to stop coming, the cheering and base of the music growing louder with each glass bottom he reached. Alex had raced past drunk 2 hours ago, eager to chase away pangs of regret over the beautiful man at the club’s bar who had caught his eye as soon as he walked in. Half his unit was here, still wearing their t-shirts identifying them as Air Force. Beautiful men weren’t in the cards tonight. 

Based off the number of hands clasping his shoulder and inching him towards a group of obviously tipsy, well-dressed women, everyone else hadn’t gotten the memo. 

“Come on, Alex, you need to lighten up,” Montgomery yelled over the music from behind him. “I know just the thing.” 

And then warmth filled him as soft lips met his and a chest pressed against his own. He wrapped his hands around the hips and was faintly aware of his name being hollered. 

The next thing he knew, wind was hitting his face and fingers were fumbling for his belt buckle. Another hand pulled his hair hard and Alex leaned into the touch, eyes closed. The hand on his belt, job completed, pulled up his shirt and pressed a cool touch. Lips hit his own again, a pair of breasts the only thing touching when they did. 

Breasts? 

Alex flung his open and took in everything he had missed before. He was in an alley, presumably behind the bar. The tug on his hair almost numbed it, but he could feel nails digging into where fingers curled against his skull. Long hair tickled his back where it slipped under his shirt. This was one of the women from the group inside, the one in the tight dress and heels she now teetered on. 

Alex pulled back and gently pushed her off. 

The dazed woman looked back at him. 

“You’re drunk. Go back inside,” he finally said, still flustered. The alley around him seemed to spin. 

He ignored the annoyed curses in favor of kneeling over and giving into the churning feeling making its way up his throat. He doesn’t know how long he laid there with a hand pressed against the stained bar wall before the city sounds where joined by faint music from inside. 

Rough hands gently lifted him up, tilted his head back, placed something hard against his lips. 

“Come on, Alex. Can you drink this for me?”

Cool water rushed down his throat. He grabbed the bottle, chugging the rest in an effort to wash away the taste of beer and cherry Chapstick. It ran down the sides of his chin onto his shirt. He dropped the empty bottle and pressed both hands against the cool concrete, intending to push himself up against the wall. 

“Careful,” the voice warned. 

Not fast enough. The word had barely registered before what colors he could see in the dark haze swirled together and the building pressure in his head finally popped. 

-

 _Here, open up._

Light burned his eyes. He squeezed them tighter. The light was gone. It helped, a bit. Something small and round was pressed into his mouth, followed by a straw he slowly sipped from. It tasted strangely metallic. 

Voices he couldn’t distinguish echoed. 

A blanket was laid over him. He pulled it over his head and the hushed voices faded completely. 

-

The pounding in his head woke him. At least it was dark this time. He curled in on himself and willed it away.

-

Alex opened his eyes to morning light just barely peeking out from behind his blackout curtains. He was in his bed, tucked under a pile of blankets. A note folded in half was placed on the nightstand. 

**> >Take these, dumbass**

Advil lay beside a glass of water. A trash can was underneath. 

Alex moved to sit up and a body in the bed shifted next to him. Jaimie and Nibble’s sleeping forms snored lightly beside him. Across the room, Montgomery slept in a chair, curled up with a blanket Alex recognized from his living room. 

They had stayed. Alex did as he was told and laid back down, a ghost of a smile on his face.

* * *

**January, 2012**

Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was repealed officially back in September of 2011. He got the news from a friend of a friend while he was deployed in West Africa. 

Alex didn’t sleep that night, and it wasn’t because of the heat.

* * *

**June, 2013**

The couple across from him was laughing. Clay’s old service buddy had told a bland military joke that had sent Clay and the other couple, old friends he’d met before, into a fit of laughter. Clay apparently saw his confused expression over the reaction it had caused and explained: it had been an inside joke from before their unit had split up and the buddy (whose name was currently unknown due to Alex forgetting to listen when the man introduced himself) had retired with an honorable discharge. 

To his annoyance, group of 7 isn’t enough to hide in and the wine in front of him couldn’t make up for that or the bland chicken casserole in front of him. Alex consoled himself by remembering that in hour, maybe less, he could excuse himself from the family-and-friends dinner from hell without offending anyone or getting an angry phone call from Dad later about how he had, yet again, disappointed and embarrassed him. 

“Don’t like that kind of humor,” a gentle voiced asked. Miranda, Clay’s wife, sat to his right. Clay had taken the seat at the head of the table, leaving Miranda sitting between them. 

“You hear it a lot,” he answered. And you did, especially as the youngest of four in a military family where everyone joined a different branch. 

“I’ve been a military wife for a decade,” she said with a laugh. “Trust me, I know. But that’s not what I asked.” 

Alex tipped his head. “Very astute. And to answer your question, it’s not exactly my niche.”

She hummed. “No date, tonight?” 

“I’ve been pretty busy with my station at base. Haven’t had a lot of time for meeting people.” 

“Well, we missed you at Christmas.” 

It was Alex’s turn to humm. He appreciated the sentiment, but considering he’d had one of the best Christmas’ in years celebrating at Patrick’s place with eggnog, rum balls, and a family that, despite not being his own, had welcomed him with his own stocking hung among the others? He somehow doubted that. 

“Okay,” Miranda rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “ _I_ missed you at Christmas. You left me alone with a bunch of vulgar boys!” 

“I don’t count as a vulgar boy?”

Miranda shot him a sly smile and leaned in until she could speak directly into his ear. “I think we both know you’re the exception to the Manes family, in the best ways possible.” She met his eyes and glanced pointedly down to her stomach and glass of water. “I hope they take after you.” 

The wife of Clay’s buddy, who’d brought the bad tasting casserole, caught Miranda’s attention to ask about a fundraiser she was planning. 

_I hope he takes after you._

Huh. Clay, a father. He felt a twang of regret over the state of his strained relationship with Clay at the idea of missing out on knowing his little niece or nephew.

“It’s for a good cause,” the woman was insisting. “Fundraising is important in times like these. It’ll do good to see a handsome Airman like you supporting them.” 

Alex regretting tuning the woman out earlier. Aside from her asking him to involved in a fundraiser, he had tuned out what exactly he was being asked to do, and for what. It must be something military, he supposes. He hadn’t heard them talk about other causes.

“It’ll be good to see you again, Alex.” Miranda nudged his shoulder. “I miss having a brother-in-law around. And you’ll still be placed at Griffiss in December, so it’ll only be a short train ride down.” 

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Clay added, almost an afterthought. 

Alex took another bite of his chicken casserole, thought about a baby growing up in Clay’s household, with his father and Flint for regular visitors, and agreed.

-

An hour later, Alex excused himself with fumbled explanations and Clay clasped him on the shoulder. “I appreciate you helping out, baby bro." He leaned in closer to whisper “I know this isn’t your usual style.”

“The department really appreciates your donation,” Clay’s buddy (whose name Alex still hadn’t found out) exclaimed with an obvious wink. 

The department? 

Oh. Not his style. 

This was a Christmas _police_ fundraiser. Fan-fucking-tastic. 

He would never admit to it, but for the first time in his life, he sent up a (unanswered) prayer to get deployed.

* * *

**December, 2013**

“Wear your dress blues,” they said. 

“Make sure you’ve got a nice change of clothes,” they said. 

“You’ll have to plan on staying for a day or two after the fundraiser,” they said. 

At no point did they bother to say _by the way, you’re going to be on a stage being auctioned off to woman and wives of the force for a date._

Alex got to find that out from the announcer on said stage. 

It wasn’t nightmare-worthy embarrassing, but only because an older woman in her sixties named Barbara had bought him for $600 in auction. She said she had a grandchild who’d appreciate “a man like himself.” What that meant, Alex didn’t know. 

He got to see Miranda, 7 months pregnant, waddling around in her dress. She beamed at him and pressed his hand to her stomach. She didn’t tell anyone that his eyes teared up when he felt the tiny kicks. 

-

Barbara insisted Alex accompany her and her grandson, Will, to mini golf. It was innocent enough until the end, when Alex climbed into Will’s car alone after She ditched them for a friend who she ‘coincidentally’ ran into right as the three finished their game. 

It seems that ‘a man like himself’ turned out to mean gay. 

Will took Alex back to his apartment where Barbara had insisted Alex drove meet them and then leave Clay’s borrowed car. 

He had barely shut the door behind him when Will had him pressed against the wall, inches from his face. 

“Is this okay,” he whispered. 

Alex leaned forward and kissed him. 

They didn’t waste any time before making their way over to the bed in Will’s small room. Sitting against the bed while Will stood between his legs, Alex ripped off Will’s shirt and unfastened his belt while Will undid his own. 

Alex grabbed Will’s hand seconds before he could pull down his briefs. “I’m a top,” he stated. “Is that okay for you?” 

“Lube and condoms are in the top drawer,” Will grinned. 

Alex didn’t tease him. After Will was prepped, he turned him around and lined up his cock with Will’s ass. He traced a finger lightly down his spine, feeling Will’s body tremble at the soft touch, and pushed in. 

Unlike Alex, Will wasn’t quiet. He came with a shout onto the bed just before Alex, and both men laid on the bed panting. 

They exchanged numbers before Alex left.

* * *

**February, 2015**

The news came that Miranda had filed for divorce. 

In October, a judge grants her majority custody of Eugene ‘Tripp’ Manes IV. Clay would have visitation every other weekend. 

-

Alex visited for Tripp’s one-year birthday. It was adorable; Miranda got him this miniature cake that he shoved in his mouth face first. 

Clay is there. Miranda says they parted amicably enough, and she wants Tripp to have a father, even if she can’t have a husband. 

It’s the best trip there he’s ever had. 

-

Alex visited Will before he left and ended up staying an extra day. They don’t do much talking but agree to meet up when Alex comes down to babysit Tripp for a weekend that Miranda and Clay will both be out of town. 

-

They do. It’s nice.

* * *

**April, 2017**

Alex got the notice that he’s being deployed via email at midnight two weeks before he’s due to report. 

He almost didn’t, but he called Will. They spend the two weeks in bed.

* * *

**September, 2017**

He’s a codebreaker. He doesn’t go out in the field. It’s what he told Will when he left ( _It’s as safe as it can be, don’t worry. I’ll call if I can, okay?_ ) He actually does, too. 

“Don’t be typing too much, now,” he always says at the end of every call. “Don’t want those fingers cramping up.” He sounds suggestive when he says it and it reminds Alex what they are: fuck buddies that ended up friends-with-benefits. In that sense, he likes it. 

On the other hand, him saying ‘other activities’ always makes him picture freezing up when he needs to pull the trigger, and the other guy pulling it first. 

He has nightmares about that. 

-

The combatants they’re up against got a new hacker. They must have, because someone had the sense to limit system access to a specific location ping tied to the server that he needs to access. 

“What does that mean?” Patrick sounds nervous at Alex’s tone and it’s not fucking helping. 

“It means that even if I spoof my location and claim I’m within the vicinity of the system, the server sweeps for a signal to be bounced back within the set perimeters. Since I won’t be there, the signal can’t get bounced back and the system triggers an alarm that shuts it down.” 

The team stared at him, silent.

“And?” Patrick again, apprehensive this time.

Alex sighed. “It means I have to go there.”

-

No one is happy about it, but they have a plan. 

Another unit fakes a mission gone wrong on the opposite side of base to draw attention. Montgomery takes out the guards left on side Alex needs access to with a sniper. Jaimie and Nibble drive Alex to the perimeter edge so he can step inside. Ten minutes, and his program gets everything they need. He, Nibble, and Montgomery on sniper can watch Jaimie’s back while he drives away.

Alex got all the way inside the perimeter before things go sideways. With three minutes on the clock, they’re spotted. And for three minutes, everything is fine. He’s dressed like them, they all are, so no one attacks him in his hiding spot in a personal tent. He made it within feet of the jeep when the world explodes.  
He woke up to screams and a piercing ringing filling his head. Smoke clouds his view of anything past him, but he doesn’t need to see to feel the heavy metal of the jeep railing crushing his leg. 

The ringing doesn’t stop, he can’t _hear_ , and if he can’t hear, he doesn’t know if it’s safe to call for help or move or do anything. Bullets flying light up the red-tinged smoke. The red doesn’t make sense at first, but he tried to lift his head, to understand, and the dripping on the ground is clear. His eye has blood over it, from a head wound it seems, and the stinging is so bad that despite his best efforts, they shut. 

_Private._

_Can you open your eyes for me, private?_

He’s hallucinating. Why else would those curls be brushing against his head? 

_Captain Manes!_

* * *

**October, 2017**

Alex let the darkness take him in Iraq and woke up in Germany. 

He’s been in a medically induced coma for two weeks. There are three things that he knows. 

Jaimie and Nibble are dead. Patrick’s eyes are rimmed red when he tells him. 

He missed the funeral. 

And it turned out that he’s missing a lot more than a funeral. It’s not there but he _feels_ it, feels it fucking burning and it won’t stop and he’s screaming and screaming and screaming. 

Patrick offered to call Will. Alex remembers trying to shake his head and shooting pain. Whatever happened, Will never called. 

When Alex opened his eyes after that first time, Jesse was there. He couldn’t deal with – but he hadn’t seen him yet. 

Alex closed his eyes again.

* * *

**January, 2018**

Physical therapy makes him want to pull out his hair, but he still doesn’t think it as bad as actual therapy. 

His PTSD triggers aren’t so black and white as a lost limb, and he isn’t about to unload the drama of his abusive Air Force father onto an Air Force-mandated therapist. It’s a waste of time for the entire eight weeks mandated.

* * *

**April, 2018**

The news was early, which was unusual. The Air Force is anything but fast acting, and he submitted his request four days ago. Allowing for a week, the earliest he should be getting this letter is Friday. 

It was Wednesday.

Alex ripped it open and read the words. And read them again. And again. 

But no matter how many times he reads them, the words haven’t changed. Aren’t going to.

_Per request, you are assigned to Roswell, New Mexico for the duration of your commitment._

He’s going home.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos bring my joy (:
> 
> Visit me on tumblr at [forgadgetsandgizmos](https://forgadgetsandgizmos.tumblr.com/)


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